


hold me tight (or don't)

by misbehavin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anti-Possession Tattoos (Supernatural), Car Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Rough Sex, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21976330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbehavin/pseuds/misbehavin
Summary: Sam gets his tattoo replaced and Cas wants to make a million promises.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	hold me tight (or don't)

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly the angstier thing I've ever written I think? And I've thought about it for a While. I feel like Sam would totally use sex as a (unhealthy) coping mechanism, and post-tattoo replacement Cas would totally be down to do anything to try and help Sam feel better. Which is not to say the sex here isn't, uh, loving, in a way? 'Cause this is still MY fic, you know, and that's what I'm about. The H/C also comes in the shape of Cas' words, of course, because that's also what I'm about. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

The backseat of the car belongs to Sam in a way that not many things do. That’s why he climbs in there afterwards, spreads out like he's ready to spend the night. It's the one place he always feels safe in, no matter the circumstance.

Castiel frowns, standing still and awkward by the open door.

"What are you doing?" he asks and Sam knows that it sounds more rude than Cas means to.

"I just need a minute," Sam says. 

He resists the urge to scratch. He didn't bother putting his shirt back on, so he touches the tattoo on his left pec gently, the plastic covering it the only thing preventing direct contact. It could've been healed in a blink had he asked, but he thinks the whole point of it would get lost. Blood magic is delicate, though also partially chaotic, and it's there to protect him, especially from angels. It's a reinforced tattoo in comparison to the previous one, more powerful in every aspect, so Sam doubts trying to heal it would even work.

"Move over," says Castiel, with the same conviction of when he made the offer of driving Sam to a tattoo parlor of his choice. He felt responsible. If the way he'd been keeping his distance meant anything, he felt guilty too. 

Sam appreciates that. In a way. Cas fucks up a lot, but so does he, and what matters, what _truly_ matters in the end is that they have each other's backs, always. So, yes. Sam appreciates that Castiel is trying to make amends. That he's there. 

However...

"Why?" asks Sam.

Castiel doesn't answer. He doesn't make any moves to get inside on the front seat either, so Sam takes a deep breath and sits up, making space for him. The door makes a loud sound when Castiel closes it.

He takes a deep breath. He looks more tired than Sam's ever seen him, though it mostly feels like a reflection.

There's a long pause, a long silence that goes on and on. Sam tastes something bittersweet as he watches Cas try to find his words.

"Thanks," he offers, before Castiel says anything. "For everything, I mean."

It feels too cramped, the air inside the car thick and warm, but they're not even touching. Sam has his back leaning against the door on one side, his arms stretched. Cas is slumped on the other side of the backseat, looking at Sam sideways.

"I'm sorry," says Castiel. He swallows, "For everything."

Sam nods. He nudges the closest part of Cas he can reach: his boot pressing on his ankle gently. 

"I know," he says, taking a deep breath. "And it'll be okay. Eventually."

That makes Castiel look up. "I’m tired of seeing you get hurt." He confesses, his hands closed into fists on his lap, his eyes glowing bright with contained fury, "I'm done with it. It won't happen, not ever again. I won't let it."

Sam sighs. "You can't guarantee that, Cas."

"Yes, I can. And I will."

"Cas…"

"It's not up for debate," he all but spits.

Interesting how things work with them: Sam is still hurt, in more ways than he can count, yet he wants to comfort Castiel, soothe his worries, and pretend nothing is wrong just for his sake. He breathes in and breathes out another sigh, hopes Cas catches its meaning — another thank you note or just another reassuring lie.

There's a little bit more of silence, like they're both wondering who will ask about when they're driving away and where to. There's a rundown motel nearby they saw earlier, but the Bunker is only a few hours away. Neither of them mention anything, like this is the only place they want to be: here, together, at a tattoo parlor's parking lot, with hard-earned forgiveness trying to blossom in the space between them like it always inevitably does.

When Sam nudges Castiel's ankle again, Cas doesn't flinch, but he looks up so quickly that it's almost the same thing, "Yes?"

Sam lifts his chin, plasters on a smile that mostly likely looks like a grimace. "You don't need to worry about me."

Cas swallows. "I can't help it."

Another pause.

Sam's about to say they should get going when Castiel turns around and slides over, until he can prop up on one of his knees close enough that it touches the side of Sam's leg.

Sam stills. With eyebrows raised, barely holding his breath, he starts asking " _What—_?", but he sees it coming way before it happens.

Castiel lays a hand on his naked shoulder for a moment before his fingers trace the new tattoo, pulling his hand back immediately after, regretful. He leans forward, touching one side of Sam's face. "I really am sorry," he says. "Sorry that you've been hurt. Sorry that I—"

"Stop," interrupts Sam, grabbing Cas' wrist. "I don't wanna talk or think about it. Not now, okay?"

Castiel nods. His gaze shifts from Sam's eyes to Sam's mouth. He hesitates for another fraction of a second, unsure if he's welcomed, so Sam makes up for it by kissing him first.

As most things in his life, this seems ill-timed. Much like chocolate, not advised, after tattoos, even magically fueled ones. And maybe even a bad idea, in general. But as Sam doesn't want to think, he pushes all thoughts aside and puts all of his focus on the present, on the feeling of Cas' hot mouth. He pulls him in, holding his face between both hands. Then pulls him onto his lap, and turns so his back is pressed comfortably against the seat and not the door handle. Castiel holds his shoulders tight, fingers digging in.

In a rush, Sam helps him out of his coat and suit jacket. They break apart for a moment, catching their breaths. Castiel makes quick work of his buttons and Sam unzips both their pants. He says, "Glove compartment," and Castiel seems mildly annoyed at the interruption, but he turns and bends over the seat to reach the glove compartment and retrieves condoms, lube and a blanket. 

Getting out of their remaining pieces of clothing is only awkward for a brief moment. Sam has barely laid the blanket and sat back down when Cas returns to his place on his lap, his lips soft and desperate like he's trying to make up for something; past mistakes and time lost. Sam kisses Castiel's neck, behind his ear, as he gets them both ready.

"I want—" starts Cas, spreading his legs. He's already shaking, as if Sam's attention is already too much. "I want to do right by you. I want—"

"Shhhh, I know, I know," Sam keeps telling him. It's no use. Cas apparently wants to make a million promises. He grunts when Sam pulls out his fingers, whimpers softly when he lowers himself down then gasps at the sensation. He starts moving, riding slowly to get used to it. When Sam grabs the back of his thighs and thrusts upwards hard into him, he actually begs, quietly, "Please. _Please_. Please, Sam—"

They set into a pace, one that makes Sam urge for it to be faster, harder. With his eyes closed, Castiel just nods and pants. One of his hands are now on Sam's bicep and the other slides into Sam's hair as he leans into another kiss.

Sam tilts his head back, so Castiel chases after him. When Cas is close to reaching, their lips almost touching, Sam pulls away again. 

"I said harder, Castiel," he mutters, hand firm on Cas' thigh and waist.

Cas gasps. Then he moans once, louder than Sam expects, and then doesn't stop moaning at all. His movements become more and more erratic. He rests his forehead against Sam's, his breath warm and his skin flushed but not as sweaty as Sam's. His hips move in sharp, fast motions.

"Fuck," Sam cusses, as he realizes his own orgasm is near. 

In that moment, the rest of the world, everything else and all the days' events, disappears. Sam enjoys that play-pretend. Cas made a mess all over his abdomen and now Sam's embracing him, pulling him tightly closer to his body like he can't get enough proximity. This feels safe, in a weird way. His eyes are closed and the night is quiet and Cas is panting on his ear and Sam thinks, yeah, somehow, this feels safe. Even when it shouldn't be. Even when it maybe isn't.

He comes only after Cas says, quiet like an odd secret, "I'm here. I'm with you."

Castiel offers to clean them with his angelic mojo and Sam says, "No. But thanks for asking first." So they clean up as much as they can with Sam's shirt.

They won't spend the night in the car, it's decided, but they settle and relax for a few minutes, still tangled up in each other. 

With his head against Sam's chest, Castiel sighs. "I'm here for you," he says. Sam can't help but fidget as Cas continues, "For whatever you want or need. You must know that."

Sam huffs. "Yeah. I know that."

"You have every right to be angry. So please, don't refrain from it on my account."

"Cas, look… I appreciate you trying to help, but this— All of this shitstorm, it can't be helped. And like I said, I don't wanna talk about it."

Castiel nods. He lifts his head to leave the softest of kisses on Sam's chin and is rewarded with a kiss to his mouth and the tiniest of smiles. 

"You'll be okay," he vows, voice stern. "Maybe not so soon, maybe a long time from now, but you will. I will make sure of it. Do you understand, Sam? I'll kill anyone in the way of your wellbeing."

"Don't," Sam answers, minutes later. He looks down at his tattoo and swallows past the lump in his throat. "I'll kill them myself."

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
